News
They say that it takes 10,000 hours to become expert at anything. By my reckoning 27-year-old Di Wu, pianist in InConcert Sierra's Sunday recital, has practiced nearly 40,000. Her extraordinary expertise in a fascinating program of Debussy, Ravel and Liszt was evident. But technique alone does not a pianist make: It also takes perceptiveness, presence and the ability to communicate. Wu has it all.
In the pre-concert forum, hosted by Aileen James, Wu, in jeans, spoke disarmingly about being a pianist. Musical parents; piano lessons at 4; debut at 14; competitions (she doesn't like them; when she's playing she isn't thinking about winning); trying to get four, five, six hours of daily practice; playing with an orchestra – “It's not a one-person show”; being short-changed in concerto rehearsal time; an unnerving conductor who doesn't look at her; memorizing music – “There's no shortcut.” She speaks knowledgeably about Debussy and Ravel, both Impressionists, but very different in their approaches and intentions. Credentials established, Wu reappears in concert dress, long, red, her petite figure seeming too slight for the enormous piano and the gigantic works ahead.
Debussy's Preludes Book II is bold programming, not often heard as a set. The “title” of each piece is at the end, in parenthesis, an abstract idea.
“Room for the imagination,” said Wu. This is BYOS music — Bring Your Own Story. Wu's stories weave through nature — subtle mists, swirling dead leaves, a seductive water nymph, fireworks; characters are sketched, Mr. Pickwick, and the clowning General Lavine; Canope, an Egyptian funeral urn, broods: Amazing how so few notes can say so much.
And Fireworks gets visceral as the fire grows, flares, bursts, shimmers and cascades, ending with a dazzling double glissando and a five note reference to La Marseillaise. Debussy breaks all the rules of composition and Wu has the measure of it. Her tempi are fast, her dynamic range enormous, her sensitivity astonishing, her abandon infectious.
Ravel's Miroirs (Reflections) also tell stories, but his are exact and specific. There is drama, sometimes resolved. Night Moths evoke summer heat; Sad Birds are disturbed; a Boat on the Ocean — “Ravel does water like no one else” — survives a storm; Spanish-tinged Morning Song of a Jester is passionate; in The Valley of Bells church bells infuse the air with melancholy. Wu captured the moods, drama, and intensity with almost casual brilliance, yet penetrating insight, her hands a blur, the video projection of the keyboard seemingly unable to keep up with the superhuman fingerwork.
Liszt ended the program, Concert Waltz on themes from Gounod's “Faust.” “Ridiculously virtuosic,” said Wu. It tells us more about Liszt than about Gounod or Faust. It's outrageous, mocking and extravagant, no doubt fun to play, except that it ought to be unplayable.
Wu acknowledged the warm standing ovation as though surprised to find herself back in the real world. She had taken us out of ourselves and now, amazingly, it's Grass Valley.
Charles Atthill lives in Alta Sierra. He likes to leave concerts replete but not stuffed.
In the pre-concert forum, hosted by Aileen James, Wu, in jeans, spoke disarmingly about being a pianist. Musical parents; piano lessons at 4; debut at 14; competitions (she doesn't like them; when she's playing she isn't thinking about winning); trying to get four, five, six hours of daily practice; playing with an orchestra – “It's not a one-person show”; being short-changed in concerto rehearsal time; an unnerving conductor who doesn't look at her; memorizing music – “There's no shortcut.” She speaks knowledgeably about Debussy and Ravel, both Impressionists, but very different in their approaches and intentions. Credentials established, Wu reappears in concert dress, long, red, her petite figure seeming too slight for the enormous piano and the gigantic works ahead.
Debussy's Preludes Book II is bold programming, not often heard as a set. The “title” of each piece is at the end, in parenthesis, an abstract idea.
“Room for the imagination,” said Wu. This is BYOS music — Bring Your Own Story. Wu's stories weave through nature — subtle mists, swirling dead leaves, a seductive water nymph, fireworks; characters are sketched, Mr. Pickwick, and the clowning General Lavine; Canope, an Egyptian funeral urn, broods: Amazing how so few notes can say so much.
And Fireworks gets visceral as the fire grows, flares, bursts, shimmers and cascades, ending with a dazzling double glissando and a five note reference to La Marseillaise. Debussy breaks all the rules of composition and Wu has the measure of it. Her tempi are fast, her dynamic range enormous, her sensitivity astonishing, her abandon infectious.
Ravel's Miroirs (Reflections) also tell stories, but his are exact and specific. There is drama, sometimes resolved. Night Moths evoke summer heat; Sad Birds are disturbed; a Boat on the Ocean — “Ravel does water like no one else” — survives a storm; Spanish-tinged Morning Song of a Jester is passionate; in The Valley of Bells church bells infuse the air with melancholy. Wu captured the moods, drama, and intensity with almost casual brilliance, yet penetrating insight, her hands a blur, the video projection of the keyboard seemingly unable to keep up with the superhuman fingerwork.
Liszt ended the program, Concert Waltz on themes from Gounod's “Faust.” “Ridiculously virtuosic,” said Wu. It tells us more about Liszt than about Gounod or Faust. It's outrageous, mocking and extravagant, no doubt fun to play, except that it ought to be unplayable.
Wu acknowledged the warm standing ovation as though surprised to find herself back in the real world. She had taken us out of ourselves and now, amazingly, it's Grass Valley.
Charles Atthill lives in Alta Sierra. He likes to leave concerts replete but not stuffed.
